


Just tell her I’m coming home

by thisisamadhouse



Series: The Queen and her little Prince [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Missing Year (Once Upon a Time), POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2019-03-27 23:37:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13891536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisisamadhouse/pseuds/thisisamadhouse
Summary: Henry’s POV of the Missing Year through the curse breaking





	Just tell her I’m coming home

It’s a strange sensation, to feel like you’re missing a part of yourself without ever understanding why, and you, Henry, you have been feeling incomplete for quite a while now. You didn’t notice it when you lived in Boston, but ever since you have moved to New York things have changed, shifted, you feel different.

It’s not just because you’re growing and becoming more like the man of the house you have always pretended to be, this you are used to. You were born in jail, and when you were younger some people were never shy about reminding you of where you came from. You became tougher to their insults, snide comments and malicious looks early on, until you could almost believe it didn’t bother you anymore. Why should it bother you anyway, when you love your mother and have accepted who she is, what she did? She loves you and you love her, and what the rest of the world thinks doesn’t matter.

So, no, it’s not just that. It’s started in the new apartment, with the strange dreams. You have had those dreams all your life you think, but you could never remember them before New York. Sometimes, you even thought they were memories rather than dreams because you were certain you had lived through them before, but they didn’t seem to match the reality. You can now clearly see the brunette woman who stars in them. She feels familiar in the same way your mom does; her eyes, her smile, her laugh soothe you, they make you feel loved and safe even though she probably isn’t real, just a figment of your overactive imagination.

You can pinpoint the moment when her face first appeared in your mind, it was when you fell asleep under the ancient apple tree you found in Central Park. Just a nap you had told yourself, just a nap, and when you woke up in your dream, you were on a boat in the middle of a strange ocean, and the brunette woman was tucking you in, and her smile was the first thing you focused on. So beautiful, and yet so sad, in a way you couldn’t find proper words for, even though you love words; words are your best friends, your greatest weapons and you want to use them to their full capacities one day, but despite this you can’t find the right terms to describe her smile and it tugs at something inside you and you think it’s pain and sorrow, but you don’t know why.

You go back to that tree often, you never fall asleep there again though, no matter how much you want to, but that’s probably why it doesn’t work, you try too hard. Life goes on in this new city, you go to school, you make friends, your mom gets cases after cases, she meets someone, someone who seems to last, someone willing to stick around despite the fact that you will always come first for her.

Then, suddenly, unexpectedly, completely out of nowhere, things change again. A man who looks like he comes straight from one of those pirate movies you used to watch as a kid appears in your new home, and your mom, who never takes a job if it means leaving you overnight, decides to make you skip school to go to Maine. You’re not stupid, you suspect there is much more that she is not telling you, and you feel a little insulted that she could think you are so oblivious, but she is your mother, you trust her, for now anyway.

You’re sitting in that old dinner frozen in time when it happens. You’re certain you must have fallen asleep at the table because how else could she be here? The brunette woman from your dreams is standing by the counter, her mug has just slipped from her grasp and crashed noisily to the floor. A heavy silence falls into the room, as if everyone is holding their breath, and you don’t understand why. The weird couple you have just met, along with every other patrons, look between you and the woman, and you feel uncomfortable. Her distress is palpable, you can see her try to form words, and she stammers an apology to you, but she doesn’t look like the kind of person who stammers and you have to look away.

Your mom stands and goes to her and calls out her name, “Regina” she says, and yes, you think, yes it suits her. Putting a name to the face that has haunted you for the better part of a year, if not longer, almost distracts you from the realisation that your mom knows her, that this woman is real and your mom knows her. You’re not sure how to feel about that.

You meet her formerly a couple days later, so many bizarre things are happening that this appears like a welcome relief. She is the same than in your mind, the same expression as she looks at you, and she does so intensely, as if she is afraid you will disappear if she blinks, but she is the one who is not supposed to be real and it leaves you confused. She moves as if to hug you, stops herself when you put out your hand instead (and you had to contain yourself to do such a simple gesture, a little voice in your head screaming that you should run to her). She takes off her glove, her hand is warm, and the contact is everything you expected it to be, as if you have touched her before, as if those hands have healed and comforted you once.

You want to know more about her, but you daren’t ask. Curiosity killed the cat, and you’re still not certain that this isn’t an illusion. You won’t take the risk to end it.

You spend time with her, you walk in the park, you eat ice cream, you talk, and it’s easy, it’s nice, and she perceives a lot, more than most people you have met, and it feels too good to be true.

It culminates, your mother is lying to you, and you’re tired of being treated like a child, you want to leave and that wannabe pirate promises a way out of town, and then all hell breaks loose, flying monsters are attacking, and your mom is firing her gun, and David has a sword, and you’re pretty sure you see Regina with a ball of fire in her hand, and nothing makes sense.

You’re flustered and scared, and your mom is holding a book, asking you to trust her and to believe, and you need a minute, just a minute to get your bearings back, but she is pressing you, and of course you trust her, but it’s all so mad.

You hold the book, and there is a stir in a corner of your brain, as if things that were buried there are struggling to come out of the dust, and suddenly it bursts wide open, and the flow of memories assaults you. Years and years of memories adjusting onto what you thought was your life, and it’s violent and it hurts, but you cling to the images of your mothers. _Mothers_ because now you remember that you have two, now you know why Regina appeared to you long before you met her, you know why you have felt like you knew her right from the start.

“Mom,” you call out, looking at Emma. “Mom,” you cry out, looking at Regina, who is not just Regina anymore, she is Mom again, and she smiles, her relief shows and there are tears in her eyes.

She walks, runs to you, sidesteps Emma and you are in her arms, finally you are in her arms, and you ignore all the painful memories you would have rather had stayed buried, all the pain, all the heartache and you focus on the warm embrace that is so _Mom_.

You are home, at last.


End file.
